


If you had a part of me ( will you take your time)

by araki_iasip



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Repression, Starts out fluffy, assholes sorting out their fucking feelings for once in their lives, gets oddly real, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 11:05:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araki_iasip/pseuds/araki_iasip
Summary: “Someone’s wasted,” Dee snorts.“Am not!” Dennis slurs indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Dee “Everything’s just a little... spinny, s’all”(in which Dennis gets Drunk and Mac's not the only one with a broken heart )





	If you had a part of me ( will you take your time)

Five PM finds Dennis slouched over, struggling to stay upright on his bars tool. When he’d woken up that morning, it was to an empty apartment, and a granola bar sitting on the kitchen counter next to a note in Mac’s haphazard scrawl reading: “In sewers with Charlie. C u at bar :)- M.”

Dennis scowled. Charlie had been going on lately about some sort of gnome-type creature that hid jewels and gold coins all over the city sewers overnight, convinced that if he were to hit the right locations at all the right times, he’d be sure to strike gold. Of course he’d managed to convince Mac to go with him. Idiot.

Dennis starting to crumble the note in his hand before stopping himself, smoothing it out and running his fingertips over the creases of the paper, before abruptly shaking his head and stuffing it begrudgingly in his back pocket. He ignored the granola bar and let the door slam behind him on his way out.

It’s not like it was a huge deal, it’s just not the start Dennis had pictured to his day. Normally, Mac would wake up before Dennis and put the coffee on, filling up Dennis’s travel mug, and greeting him with a sleepy smile when Dennis finally trudges into the kitchen. Normally, Mac sits next to Dennis in the Rover on the way to work, shoulders just brushing as Mac yawns sleepily beside him, babbling about what he wants to have for dinner that night or something funny Charlie had said while high and trying to change the radio to his own favorite stations when he thinks Dennis won’t notice. Dennis usually pretends not to, listens to Mac hum along under his breath instead.

Dennis is just used to it, is the thing.

So, when Dennis got to the bar, he had started with the half-empty bottle of tequila he kept behind the fire extinguisher (in case of an emergency), eventually moving on to whiskey once he’d polished the bottle off.

Several long, self-pity filled hours and approximately five beers later, Dennis finds himself seriously weighing the pros and cons of slamming his head repeatedly against the bartop to drown out the sound of Dee who, convinced she has some sort of superior psychic ability, has been having Frank think of a number between 1 and 100 and then trying to guess it for the better part of the day (she hadn’t guessed correctly once).

When Mac and Charlie erupt through the bar door, empty handed and covered in splotches of dirt, talking excitedly about a sewer rat they had seen that Mac swears was twice as big as Poppins, Dennis is done.

Dennis attempts to hoist himself to his feet, accidentally wrapping one ankle around the foot of his bar stool, and finding himself flat on his back, blinking confusedly up at his friends.

Mac rushes instantly to Dennis’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to urge him upright, and inspecting his head for any sign of a bump.

“ _Someone’s_ wasted,” Dee snorts.

“Am not!” Dennis slurs indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Dee “Everything’s just a little spinny, s’all”

“Up we go, that’s it,” Mac mutters, hoisting Dennis by his armpits into a standing position, apparently satisfied that Dennis hadn’t managed to give himself any significant brain damage. Dennis sways against him as soon his feet find the ground, and Mac immediately slides one arm around his back, clutching at his waist to steady him.

In lieu of a retort, Dee simply raises one eyebrow. Luckily, Mac has his back. _Mac always his back,_ Dennis thinks.

“Shut up Dee, it’s your fault for letting him drink so much this early in the day. This wouldn’t have even happened in the first place if I had been here.”

“Wait, wait…wait,” Dennis wrinkles his brow, frowning up at Mac and then looking back at Dee “you guys aren’t the bosses…. o’ me….”

“I know, buddy,” Mac replies, good-naturedly, giving Dennis a placating little pat on the top of his head. Dennis, too wasted to take it at anything other than face value, nods contentedly and smirks back at Dee.

“I’m his sister, not his babysitter,” Dee retorts, “in case you’ve forgotten, _some of us_ actually have other things to do than sit and worry about Dennis 24/7.”

At this point, Dennis’s head is lolling against Mac’s shoulder, and from this angle he can see Mac’s expression contort with anger, brow furrowing. He’s about to reply to Dee when Dennis cuts him off.

“Y’ shouldn’t… do that, y’know” Dennis prods Mac in the chest with one finger. Mac immediately looks down, his anger fading into an inquisitive look.

“What’s that, Dennis?” Mac asks, genuinely curious.

“Your face, it gets all…..squished up….. when it’s mad……….s’not as pretty.”

Mac gawks at him slightly, mouth agape.

Distantly Dennis hears Charlie squeal “Oh shit” in that urgent, high-pitched tone of his.

Dee narrows her eyes, pausing for a moment before asking “Are we sure he doesn’t have a concussion?”

Mac’s still staring speechlessly down at Dennis, who’s still peering up at Mac’s face with an almost cartoonish look of concentration on his own face.

“Your eyes are pretty though…….they’re always pretty…..” Dennis hiccups here, “s’like they’re brown but they’re not brown……they’ve got these flecks of gold and there’s green around the rim. Like the edge of a…a big muddy puddle…” Dennis finishes, solemnly.

Mac shakes his head, apparently snapping himself out of whatever trance he was in, and laughing.

“Okay, Robert Frost, let’s get you home,” he readjusts his grip on Dennis’s waist, so Dennis’s weight is resting more securely against him. “Charlie, can you grab his sweater for me?”

Dennis yawns into Mac’s shoulder as Charlie hurries to get Dennis’s pull-over sweater from where it’s hanging by the door.

“‘M tired.”

“I know buddy, we’ll be home soon, then you can rest,” Mac grabs the sweater from Charlie.

“Arms up now,” Mac mutters, soothingly, holding the sweater over Dennis’s head, and working Dennis’s arms into the sleeves as gently as possible, “that’s a good boy.”

“There,” Mac proclaims, smiling proudly once Dennis is fully donning the garment “Good to go.”

Mac starts steering Dennis toward the door, when he notices Dennis stopping, not moving with him quite as easily. Mac frowns, finding Dennis stood looking at him with an odd, indiscernible look on his face.

“You okay, dude?”

“Mac…Mac….you’re so nice…even when….. I’m not that nice to you………why are you….so nice to me?”

Mac snorts, incredulously, like the question had never even occurred to him, like there was never another alternative.

“You’re my best friend, dude,” Mac replies, simply, cheerily “someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out in your own puke, and that’s gonna be me.”

Suddenly, Dennis’s face breaks out in a giddy, knowing smile.

“Oh dude. It’s because you love me…..” Dennis giggles, delightedly, playing absently with the collar of Mac’s shirt “it’s because you toootttttalllllly love me dude!”

Mac’s entire body tenses against Dennis , and his face goes blank, shooting an anxious glance back at the rest of the gang, who are watching on like they’re watching a car crash in slow motion.

Mac takes a moment, clears his throat, before making to move them toward the door again.

“Anyway, we really should be going..” Mac starts in a strained voice, before Dennis cuts him off.

“You wanna know a secret?” Dennis asks, in what he probably thinks is a whisper, but really is loud enough that the whole gang can hear, leaning close to Mac’s face, eyes wide and so honest Mac can’t help but give a genuine response, the tension slowly draining from his face.

“It’s like… it’s a secret …okay?” Dennis starts, entirely seriously, looking at Mac for validation. Mac nods solemnly, clearly eager for Dennis to get whatever’s going on off of his chest so they can finally get going.

“It’s a secret because…I know you don’t think I do….but I love you too.” Dennis giggles deliriously, like he’s just told a human truth so poignant, so groundbreaking, he can’t quite believe it himself.

Mac’s jaw hits the floor, catches Dee’s eye, who by now has gone completely white. Charlie and Frank exchange startled glances.

“Holy shit,” Frank swears.

***

The first thing Dennis is aware of upon waking is the weight of what feels like a bowling ball bearing down on his forehead. The second is that something about the situation is different, out of place. Even with his eyes closed, Dennis can sense the abrasive late morning sunlight pressing heavily against his eyelids, which wouldn’t be strange, except for the fact that Dennis tends to keeps his blinds closed, curtains drawn to prevent exactly these types of occurrences. It’s once he opens his eyes that Dennis realizes exactly _why_ the situation feels strange.

He’s in Mac’s room, still on top of the covers, but under an old fleece throw that he thinks Mac’s had since high school. Dennis eyes his surroundings warily, still struggling to get his bearings, and notices his jeans and shirt folded and piled neatly on a chair next to Mac’s bed, his sneakers set on the ground in front of them. Further inspection reveals he’s still in his boxers and wearing a large, worn t-shirt that Dennis thinks he recognizes as one of Mac’s usual sleep shirts, from the mornings he’d trudge into the kitchen first thing, hair wild and face soft (from the particularly rough nights, the nights when sleep wouldn’t come and Dennis would relent and climb into Mac’s bed and burrow into the space between his arms, sliding his hand under the soft fabric to rest against the small of Mac’s back).

Mac. Dennis’s heart plummets into his stomach as he recalls flashes of the prior evening; Mac’s hands gentle on his shoulders, his arms, as he helped Dennis into his jacket. The faint smell of Mac’s cologne mixed with sweat as Dennis leaned heavily into his shoulder. Mac, sitting him on the edge of the bed getting to his knees in front of him to untie his laces, help him out of his shoes. The indescribable, indecipherable look on Mac’s face when Dennis had said….

Dennis jolts upward on the bed, feeling the bile rising in his throat, thinking, for a moment. he’s going to get sick all over Mac’s blankets and pillows, right here in front of God and all of his saints, and the statue of Jesus on the cross that’s currently staring him down from his position on Mac’s dresser.

The first thing Dennis notices when he emerges from Mac’s bedroom is the smell of slightly burnt toast, mingling with freshly brewed coffee. He glances over at the living room couch, noting a cocoon of blankets and a single pillow on the sofa. _Where Mac must have slept,_ he thinks, absently.

Stepping gingerly into the kitchen, he spots Mac at the stove, back to him as he works his spatula across a pan of what appears to be scrambled eggs, one of the few foods Mac knows that Dennis will eat when he’s having a bad eating day or extremely hungover. It’s when Mac pauses in his ministrations to snatch the toast out of the toaster that he notices Dennis standing across from him, eyes unfocused and blinking, looking small and disoriented in Mac’s big t-shirt.

“Hey,” Mac offers softly, giving Dennis a small smile, guarded but sincere. Dennis manages a weak smile back, desperately wishing, suddenly, he’d had the presence of mine to run a comb through his hair, at least, done something, anything, to make himself look slightly less like death warmed over.

There’s a cup of coffee accompanied by a glass of orange juice and a bottle of aspirin out on the table in the place where Dennis usually sits, and Dennis slowly makes his way over to his chair, gulping down the aspirin and juice gratefully as Mac places plates of scrambled eggs and toast at the center of the table. Mac stops to pour himself a cup of coffee, before sliding into the chair across from Dennis.

Dennis is quiet, sipping cautiously from his own mug. The fact that the coffee is fixed up exactly to his liking (a splash of french vanilla creamer, one sugar) doesn’t escape his notice. Something in his chest aches for reasons he can’t explain, and when he puts his mug back down on the table, he finds Mac’s eyes already on him.

“You should eat, you know,” Mac offers, matter-of-factly, “it’s the only cure to a hangover. The grease from the eggs neutralizes all of the alcohol in your stomach, and makes you feel more better.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow, looking skeptically back at Mac, but Mac looks so earnest, so concerned, that he helps himself to a spoonful of eggs and a piece of toast with only minimal grumbling. Dennis can still feel Mac watching him, and under his open, searching gaze, Dennis feels flushed and clumsy, suddenly, staring resolutely at his plate.

“Dennis,” Mac starts, and the tone of his voice is almost unbearably gentle, like he’s trying to sooth a spooked horse, and one misstep might cause Dennis to run as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. “I think we have to talk about this.”

Dennis laughs, not necessarily cruelly, but as if what Mac had just proposed was truly absurd. He’s trying to avoid direct eye contact, but he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt laced with confusion that crosses Mac’s face. He wants to apologize, suddenly, but for what exactly, he isn’t sure. Instead, he shovels a forkful of runny eggs into his mouth instead, silently willing himself not to gag as his stomach lurches in protest.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Pass me the jam.”

Dennis was attempting to deflect, to intimidate Mac into stopping the conversation before it even started, but he knows his voice comes out choked and thin. Mac, for his part, doesn’t appear ready to give up so easily. Dennis is using his fork to pick at his food, almost aggressively, but stills his movements as Mac reaches careful across the small table to softly, softly, set rest his hand on top of the fist Dennis has formed around his fork in a death grip. Dennis stares, helplessly, at the places where the tips of Mac’s fingers rest gently against the back of his knuckles. Mac’s voice gets somehow softer.

“Den, it’s just me. Please, talk to me”

Dennis pulls his hand back like it’s been burned, fork clattering to the ground, Mac watching on, mouth slightly agape in confusion.

“Fuck, Mac,” Dennis rubs the back of his hand wearily across his eyes, barking out a weak, deflated sort of chuckle.

When Mac speaks next, it’s evenly and with great effort, his voice heavy with sadness.

“You say you love me, and then you push me away, or say you hate me and don’t want me near you or whatever. I don’t know what to do, man” Mac’s voice breaks, here, and something does a somersault in Dennis’s chest. “I don’t know what to do to make you happy.”

Dennis sees red.

“You want to know what the funniest part is?” Dennis starts, before he can stop himself. “Do you know what’s the most hilarious thing about this entire goddamn dumpster fire of a situation? You always say I don’t do anything for you.”

Dennis pauses, shaking his head on a deep inhale, before finally lifting his gaze to lock eyes with Mac.

“Dennis,” Mac breathes out, feeling like he’s suffocating, like Dennis had sucked the breath right out of his lungs.

“But this entire time, I was doing it for you. It was all for you. And you fucking ruined it!”

There’s a beat where everything’s silent, and a cold wave panic crashes over Dennis, as he watches Mac struggle to digest his words.

“I’m sorry…I…. I really don’t know what you’re talking about- ,” Mac starts, helplessly, eyes wide and sincere, and the earnestness there, the genuine desire to understand what’s going on in Dennis’s head is too much; like almost everything about Mac and the way he makes Dennis feel, it has always been too much.

Dennis snorts abruptly, and it comes out less derisive and more incredulous, more a cry of distress, like a wild animal realizing he’s caged and cornered on all sides.

“Of course you don’t understand. Why would you understand? I’ve spent the past 25 goddamn years being who I thought you wanted me to be!”

At this, Mac looks even more bemused, looking up at Dennis like a kicked, puppy while Dennis continues, starting to pace the length of the floor next to the table, the words spilling from his mouth one after another before he even knows what he’s going to say next, before he can stop himself

“You think _you_ changed who you were at your core? You’re the one who made me change. All these years…I pretended you’re straight, pretended that I couldn’t see this thing that’s been going on between us since the first goddamn day we met. Do you really think that made me happy? You think that’s what I wanted?”

Dennis runs his hands wildly through his hair as he paces faster, tugging on the ends over and over.

“Living with you was like living with a fucking time bomb I spent years trying not to set off, because you were so convinced whatever you felt for men…whatever you felt for me must be so goddamn sinful, so _disgusting,_ that you’d rather spend your life pretending to be someone you’re not than owning up to the truth.”

Mac is standing now too, hands spread helplessly in front of him like he wants to touch Dennis, calm him, somehow, but doesn’t know how. Dennis stops pacing and sighs, leaning heavily against the table, shoulders heaving. His voice shakes when he speaks.

“I never thought you’d do it, man. Come out…. Stay out. Not for me, and not for a fucking lottery scratcher, that’s for goddamn sure.”

When Dennis catches Mac’s eyes, they’re wide and wet around the edges. He gives Mac a sad smile.

“And the sad fucking thing is, even then, even after I knew I was never going to be worth it to you, even after I tried to move on again and again,” Dennis pauses, laughing a little bit like he can’t believe the words himself “I still came back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Dennis,” Mac walks, very slowly, toward him, not breaking eye contact. Dennis can count the freckles on the tip of his nose. You can’t see them, if you’re not up close.

It’s only once Mac traces the pad of his thumb across Dennis’s cheek and it comes away wet that Dennis realizes he’s been crying. Dennis is instantly hot with embarrassment, trying to turn away and hide, bury his face in his own shoulder. But Mac’s hands don’t let go of his face, and before he realizes what’s happening, Mac’s got his own forehead pressed lightly up against his. Choking back a sob, Dennis feels more vulnerable, somehow more exposed now than he’s ever felt in his life even though they’re fully clothed and barely touching.

“Dennis,” Mac exhales, so quiet it’s barely a word. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Slowly, cautiously, Dennis winds his arms around Mac’s torso, letting his hands rest flat against the fabric covering his shoulder blades.

“Dennis, you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti" by Sufjan Stevens
> 
>  
> 
> This is a prompt fill for "Because I love you" and "You don't need to pretend,"  
> This is also strongly influenced by an ask Michelle sent me about a drunk Dennis accidentally confessing his love, and hours spent spiralling with Ellie about the thousands of times Dennis has had his heart broken by Mac over the course of their relationship.
> 
> I'm araki-iasip on tumblr


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